


if you'll have me

by imagymnasia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ashe is a crier, Awkward Love Confessions, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Mercedes shows up for like 10 seconds, these two are hopeless and I love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26207977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/pseuds/imagymnasia
Summary: “Ashe, you’re alright!”“Of course I am,” he said, hoping his smile was reassuring. Ingrid had saved his life, after all, and he was grateful. But the memory of her, limp in his arms as she bled into the sky, was still too fresh a wound. Instead, he sat next to her, crossing his legs and sitting close enough that his knee brushed the edge of her blankets. “And so are you, I see. I’m so glad.”Ingrid ducked her head, picking at her leggings again. “That was… I’m sorry you had to see that.”“No, don’t be,” Ashe said. He shook his head. “I’m glad I was there.”“So am I,” and Ingrid smiled, her whole face alight with gratefulness. “Thank you, Ashe. I owe you my life.”Ashe chuckled. “I think we’re square.”
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	if you'll have me

**Author's Note:**

> For the Ultra Rarepair Big Bang 2020. Illustration by [here](https://twitter.com/AtomicHush>AtomicHush</a>%20on%20Twitter.%20You%20can%20find%20the%20full%20image%20<a%20href=).

Ashe Ubert was in a bad spot.

He could barely see; the wind whipped the smoke into an impenetrable haze as the trees around him crackled in the growing blaze. The light and warmth were dizzying; Ashe's eyes stung with sweat and soot and sharp heat, and his lungs felt as if they, too, had caught fire. He crouched low, coughing into his collar as he pulled it up over his mouth and nose.

It wasn't _all_ bad, he reminded himself. None of his enemies could easily spot him, and smoke was great for sneaking through. Of course, none of his allies could see him, either, and he had no idea where they were. He had been with Dedue moments before the blaze started; now they had been separated, and Ashe couldn't even make out his deep voice booming across the battlefield. Nor could he hear Dimitri's unmistakable roar over that of the fire, or see the colorful sparks that made Annette's magic so distinctive. His allies could be anywhere, but he'd never know until he ran headfirst into them. The same could be said of the soldiers trying to murder him, and that made things very dangerous indeed.

Ashe was alone, and _alone_ would get him killed.

Above him, the aerial forces circled, wyverns and pegasi alike skimming the tops of the trees and clashing in furious animalistic combat. There was a ballista out there, somewhere; he’d seen it before the fire started, though it wasn’t nearly as effective in the forest as it was in the open field. But the fliers seemed unafraid now, more concerned with the fire and conveying their allies out of danger.

A wyvern shrieked above him, and Ashe looked up as it soared overhead. Its rider, a Kingdom soldier, waved a signal flag. He squinted through the wavering haze, trying to make it out.

_Fall back._

Things must be worse than he thought if the Professor was calling for a retreat. Ashe spit into the dirt and wiped his mouth. He had to get back, but which way was—

The twang of a bowstring was his only warning before an arrow winged by his head, missing his nose by mere inches. Instinct took over and Ashe flattened himself against the underbrush; there was already an arrow fitted to his string in retaliation. Ashe couldn’t see who had shot at him, but the arrow had come from his left; he crept in that direction, crouched low, nerves taut.

There: a shadow in the smoke. Ashe had good eyes, but not good enough to tell friend from foe at this distance. So he crept closer, arrow nocked and ready to fly—

Another arrow struck the ground just ahead of him, and Ashe dashed behind the nearest tree, cursing under his breath. On his left now, were they? He didn’t know how they were tracking him in the chaos, but they were good. _Very_ good.

But then, no, _there_ was the figure— or at least _a_ figure, he couldn’t even be sure it was the same person— just ahead. They were walking toward him, blade in hand; then the smoke cleared enough and their eyes met his. He’d never seen the woman before, but there was no mistaking the Imperial insignia on her singed uniform. Ashe watched her do the same quick appraisal, saw the moment her gaze hardened, and she raised her weapon and called over her shoulder:

“Oy, he’s over here!”

 _Damn it._ Too late, Ashe let the arrow fly. It struck the soldier in the chest, punching the life from her lungs in a strangled scream and knocking her to the ground. He didn’t wait to see if she was dead; he was already sprinting into the forest, skirting the worst of the flames and dodging trees and brush and the bodies of fallen soldiers.

He could hear them behind him now: three, maybe four Adrestians hot on his heels. Ashe wove between the spindly tree trunks, leaping over smoldering logs and using the remaining foliage to his advantage, but he couldn’t shake them. At least one of them was an archer, for every time he tried to change direction, their arrows cut him off.

They were herding him, he realized, and his stomach dropped into his shoes. Herding, but to where?

A clearing opened up before him, and Ashe threw his arm up to shield his eyes against the sudden onslaught of heat and light. The far side of the clearing was a solid blaze, an impenetrable wall of flame, spreading quickly around the perimeter. He turned what he hoped was north and fled, feet pounding the earth and praying he made it in time. But the fire was spreading too quickly, and before Ashe could reach it the ring of fire had closed.

There was nowhere to go.

At the sound of strong wingbeats, Ashe looked up, already reaching for another precious arrow. The bright white of a pegasus cut through the smoke and he took careful aim, ready to fell the beast. Then he realized with mounting horror that he recognized the creature— and its rider.

“Ashe!” Ingrid’s voice rang out like a swift wind, calling his name and cutting through the fury of battle to ring in his ears. Then she was there, hovering above him like a soot-streaked angel. Ashe swallowed his heart at the sight of her, relief and terror alike pulling him inside-out, a string tied to a hook in his lungs.

The Adrestians would be here any moment, and more were sure to follow. Ingrid was a bigger target, more visible and more vulnerable than one ex-thief trapped in a ring of fire. They would focus on her, not Ashe, and when they were finished taking her down they’d come for him, unless he joined the trees and burned up in the fire before they could reach him.

But just because he was doomed didn’t mean she had to go down with him. There was no reason she had to die here.

“Ingrid!” he screamed, and the effort sent him into a fit of coughs, “g-get out of here! The archers—”

“Ashe, you’re surrounded!” Ingrid shouted back, as if she didn’t hear him. Maybe she hadn’t; either way, she directed her mount toward the ground. Ashe was already running toward her, trying to ward her off.

“Don’t worry about me! Go back, it’s not safe—”

Ingrid’s pegasus whinnied and dropped as an arrow barely missed the beast’s wings. For a single moment, Ingrid looked startled; then something like fury passed over her face, and together pegasus and rider dove for him again.

“Grab on!” Now aware of the danger, Ingrid was unable to set down; instead they hovered above the ground, and Ingrid extended her relic toward him.

It was a stupid idea. Stupid, foolhardy, it would _never_ work—

Ashe, already sprinting, slung his bow around his shoulder and leaped for it. His gloved hands made contact, scrabbled, slid; Ingrid lurched in her saddle, gasping under the sudden weight, but she held fast. Then she was pulling him up, slowly— _too_ slowly, hand over hand with trembling arms.

That was when Ashe heard the shouting, and he glanced down as they hovered; the smoke was clearing, swirling in great gusts beneath their wingbeats and leaving them exposed. Outside the ring of flaming trees, the Adrestian troops were shouting, pointing; the snipers (three of them, Ashe now saw) drew and fired.

Ashe squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the impact and the pain and whispering on last, frantic prayer to the goddess. But the archers missed. Their arrows fell short.

They wouldn’t miss again.

Ashe wrapped his arm around the lance, tucking it under his armpit and huffing with the effort. “Just go,” he shouted, “I can hold—”

“Don’t— be— _stupid._ ” Ingrid glared, pausing for only a moment to catch her breath before hauling him up, inch by agonizing inch. An arrow whizzed over her head, and it only made her expression more determined. “I’ve— got this—”

And then she was reaching for his hand, leaning out farther than was safe, and Ashe reached back. One heave later and he was seated behind her, one hand holding Lúin and the other curled around her waist. Ingrid gasped and leaned low over her pegasus’ neck, and for a moment Ashe thought she might be winded enough to fall off. Then he saw her grip the reins and pat its neck, green eyes stormy.

“ _Go_.”

Then they were wheeling over the battlefield, Ashe clutching Ingrid tightly and trying to remember his riding lessons. Below them the enemy followed, flinging arrows and curses after them, but within a matter of seconds they were out of range. Only then did Ashe breathe more easily.

“That was _reckless,_ Ingrid!”

“What was I supposed to do, leave you?” she asked. “What kind of knight would I be if I did that?”

“I’m serious. You could have been grounded. You could have been _shot—_ ”

Ingrid pulled hard on the reins, her sudden motion Ashe’s only warning as they pulled up hard and looped back on their aerial path. A ballista bolt, as long as he was tall, sailed through the space where they would have been if it hadn’t been for Ingrid’s quick thinking.

“Still might get shot,” Ingrid laughed; but it was breathy, fragile. The sound of it settled like a weight in Ashe’s stomach.

“Hey,” he said, and he leaned forward to peer over her shoulder at her face, “are you okay?”

But Ingrid nudged him with her shoulder and turned her face away, and Ashe sat back with a frown.

“I’m fine, Ashe,” she reassured him. He didn’t believe her, but he also didn’t argue. “I’m taking us back to the rearguard. The Professor wants us to pull back and re-group; we’re too spread out with—” Ingrid paused, took a slow breath. “With all this smoke,” she finished, spitting over the side with disdain.

“The Empire really will stop at nothing, won’t they?”

Ashe surveyed the battlefield below them. _Battlefield_ was being generous; the sparse forest below them had been beautiful, green, and _alive_ once; now it was aflame, the great trees and underbrush fuel for the Empire’s resolve. Most people looked at nature and saw life; the Imperial army saw kindling.

It was a risky move, one that put their own forces at as much of a disadvantage as the Kingdom’s troops, but the trap had been sprung long after Dimitri and the Professor had led the march into the trees. Ashe knew Faerghus had already suffered a huge loss; their only hope, it seemed, was that the Empire’s loss would be greater.

Ingrid kept them high enough to be out of range of all but the Empire’s longest-range weapons. They were well above the trees, now, and nearly out of the forest proper. Along the horizon, Ashe could see the rearguard; the supply wagons and medical tents dotted a field of scorch-scarred earth. He was searching the tiny moving figures among the mass of soldiers for his friends when Ingrid swayed in the saddle, slumping to one side with a curse.

“Damn it.” She sighed, hauled herself upright, swayed again.

“Ingrid?” Ashe caught her as she tilted the other way, dangerously close to losing her seat. “Ingrid, what’s—” That was when he felt the warm, sticky wetness trailing down her side, and Ashe went white. “Oh, goddess above, you’re hurt!”

“So,” Ingrid grunted, “about that getting shot thing…”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Thought I could make it,” she gritted out, a tiny laugh hissing through her clenched teeth. There was a broken shaft buried in her side, just below her ribs; Ingrid flinched, curling around it as she leaned into Ashe. Then she stared at him, blinking slowly. “Sorry. Guess you’re the... one… rescuing _me._ ”

“No,” he told her, and he pulled her to his chest and reached for the reins, now dangling from her limp fingertips, “no, no Ingrid, you’re wrong, you _will_ make it, you will—”

He was babbling, he knew he was, but something inside him was screaming, trying to claw its way out of his chest at the weight of Ingrid’s body in his arms. It was the heavy weight of surrender, and it more than anything yet— more than this war, more than taking another man’s life, more than the looming specter of his own death shadowing his every choice— it frightened him.

“You are _not_ dying on me,” he whispered into her hair. His words settled there with the soot of battle and the salt of his own tears.

—-

“She’ll live,” said Mercedes, and Ashe nearly fell on his knees in prayer right there in the middle of camp. “She lost a lot of blood, but the wound wasn’t serious.”

“Oh, thank the goddess,” he breathed, blinking back fresh tears. “Is she awake? Can I see her?” Mercedes nodded, and he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he dashed past her. “Thank you, Mercedes! You’re a lifesaver!”

“You’re welcome.” Her giggles followed him all the way across camp.

While Ashe had been seeing to her pegasus (for Ingrid would have a fit if her loyal mount had been neglected just because she’d been _shot_ ), Ingrid had been moved from the medical tent to the smaller, personal quarters she shared with Mercedes and Annette. Her bedroll was in the back, and Ingrid sat cross-legged atop it, picking at a loose thread in her pants. Her armor lay discarded beside her, still bloody from the battle and in need of repair, and she wore only her undershirt and trousers.

Ashe’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of her. Mercedes had said she was alright, that she was healing, that she would make it, but seeing with his own eyes was different. There was no sign of the wound that had nearly claimed her, only some superficial injuries on her face and hands. She certainly didn’t look like she’d nearly died in his arms this afternoon. The only sign she’d been in grave danger were the bandages wrapped around her torso that peeked through the collar of her shirt and made the sleek plane of her torso lumpy and irregular.

Ingrid was _alive_. She was well, she was healing, she was breathing and beautiful. Ashe felt like he might cry.

Ingrid looked up when he entered, and relief brought a tearful smile to her face. “Ashe, you’re alright!”

“Of course I am,” he said, hoping his smile was reassuring. Ingrid had saved his life, after all, and he was grateful. But the memory of her, limp in his arms as she bled into the sky, was still too fresh a wound. Instead, he sat next to her, crossing his legs and sitting close enough that his knee brushed the edge of her blankets. “And so are you, I see. I’m so glad.”

Ingrid ducked her head, picking at her leggings again. “That was… I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“No, don’t be,” Ashe said. He shook his head. “I’m glad I was there.”

“So am I,” and Ingrid smiled, her whole face alight with gratefulness. “Thank you, Ashe. I owe you my life.”

Ashe chuckled. “I think we’re square.”

How easy it was, to mask what he really felt with laughter. He’d always been like that, even before his parents passed; laughing got him through the worst of times, helped keep their spirits up when the three of them had been on the street. Now, it hid the deep hurt in his chest, the gnawing guilt of what he’d almost done.

“Um, Ingrid,” he said, suddenly feeling very small, “about that, I—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” she interrupted. “But you don’t have to apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” Ashe gaped at her, and Ingrid smiled. “It was written all over your face.”

Ashe felt his face heat. This time the laughter came more easily. “Guess I am sort of predictable.”

“I’d use the word _reliable_.” He blushed further but didn’t protest. He was getting better at taking compliments, these days.

“Thank you,” he said instead, “for the rescue. If you hadn’t come along, I’d have burned up for sure.”

Ingrid grinned at him, the preening sort of smile that made her nose crinkle with delight. “You’re welcome. Still,” and her face grew thoughtful, “I sort of flubbed it at the end, didn’t I? Not much of a daring rescue if I faint and fall off my pegasus. Next time, I’ll—”

Ashe cut her off. He immediately felt terrible about it— he hated interrupting— but this was important. “There can’t be a next time, Ingrid. You almost died out there.”

“But I didn’t,” she countered, and something in her eyes turned hard, shuttered herself against him. It made Ashe’s chest hurt. He didn’t want to upset her, especially when she was healing, but he had to make her understand.

“Not this time,” he agreed, “but you got hurt pretty bad, and all to save me. Next time you try something like that, next time you get _hurt_ , I may not be there to catch you.”

“I don’t _need_ you to.”

The softness of her face was stone, now. Back rigid, eyes cold, Ingrid faced him like any other adversary, and the fact that she was injured and weaponless did not make Ashe feel any less threatened.

“Ingrid—”

“Don’t make something out of this.”

“I’m just meant—”

“We’ve all _‘almost died_ out there’,” she snapped. “There was Felix, last week, when their scouting party got ambushed. And Sylvain, protecting Mercedes from that demonic beast. Even you’ve been—”

“I know, I know!” he said. “But they weren’t _you!_ ”

Ashe winced, but the words had already escaped, hanging between them like a guillotine, poised and ready to sever their friendship if either of them let it fall. Ingrid’s eyes went wide, surprise throwing her off-balance for only a moment. Then she swelled like a frog, puffed up and affronted; it was something Ashe usually found endearing, but not right now.

“Ashe Ubert, if this is because I’m a woman I swear I’ll—”

“No, no!” Ashe threw up his hands. “Saints, Ingrid, you know me better than that. I would never!”

“Then—” Ingrid deflated, just a little; Ashe kept his hands raised, just in case. “Then what do you mean by that? ‘They aren’t me’?”

“I—” Goddess, he’d actually said that. Out loud. "I just. Um."

The blade still swayed over his head, looming.

Ashe stared at his hands, which found their way to the tassels on his belt; he tugged them as he thought.

“I just know why you’re fighting so hard,” he said finally, treading cautiously with each word. Ingrid’s pride was a minefield, and one he would have to traverse carefully if he wanted her to listen. “But I want you to know that I don’t see you that way. And you don’t have to worry about that with me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” Ashe took a deep breath. “You don’t have to work so hard to prove yourself.”

Ingrid scoffed. “I’m not trying to prove anything.”

“Yes, you are!” He hadn’t meant to sound so vehement, so _angry_. “I’m sorry,” he said, and it was all coming out in a rush now, “I didn’t mean to yell, but you are! I know you, Ingrid. I know that ever since you decided on this path that you’ve been trying to prove to everyone you can do it— your father, your family, even the rest of our old house.”

Ashe took her hand, fully expecting her to pull away. Instead she let him hold it, face warm, wide eyes watching him intently.

“Listen. I know you think no one believes in you, but I do. I know I’m not a noble, I don’t have a crest— I can’t imagine the pressure you’re under. Galatea’s in a tough spot and there’s a lot on your shoulders. But you’re one of the bravest people I know. You work twice as hard as anyone, you’re dedicated and principled and you don’t let anyone boss you around. You’re your own person, Ingrid, and I admire that. I know what it took for you to get where you are, and I know you’re not going to stop until you get where you want to be.

“That’s why you can’t throw your life away. Not for— not for me. You’ve got a dream to pursue, and I—” _I’m not worth that._ Ashe let go of her hand, but Ingrid reached for him, slotting her fingers between his own and locking them together so he couldn’t pull away. Ashe spluttered, turning red to his ears. “I-Ingrid!”

“You’ve got a dream, too!” she protested. Ingrid leaned closer, tilting her head to study his face. “Ashe, you’re the reason I’m still chasing this grand dream. Without you, why, I might’ve given up. I nearly did, until _you_ reminded me that what I want is important, too. That it’s worth fighting for.” She gave his hand a squeeze, sighing. “What happened to doing this together?”

 _Together._ They had promised, hadn’t they? Knighthood was something they both dreamed of, a steep hill that they were both climbing, a journey that wouldn’t be over with a battle or a ceremony. Knighthood was a way of life, a calling; and, whether it was the goddess or fate or just the twisting path of life, something had known they both felt it. It knew that they needed each other, and had brought them together.

Now they were comrades-in-arms, partners on and off the battlefield, lifting each other up and inspiring themselves to climb higher. And Ashe was grateful— _of course_ he was grateful— but somewhere along the line their partnership had stopped being enough. Somehow, someway, he’d fallen in love.

“All the more reason you can’t die.” Ashe had to force the smile. “I can’t lose you.”

“Well I can’t lose you, either.” The stubborn set of her jaw was back, but her eyes were soft. “Ashe,” she said, “I didn’t come back for you because it was the knightly thing to do, or to prove how brave I am— I did it because I care about you. I…” She hesitated, earnestness turning her cheeks a deep blush. “I-I need you.”

“I feel the same way.” This time, he didn’t have to fake it. “Ingrid, I—”

“No.” It was Ingrid’s turn to look away. “I mean— goddess,” she whispered, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Doing… what?”

“Ruining everything.” Ingrid took a deep breath and sat up straight. Shoulders squared, chin lifted, eyes steady. “Ashe, I... I...” She swallowed. “AsheIthinkIhavefeelingsforyou.”

Ashe blinked. “You— what?”

Ingrid groaned and deflated, leaning forward until her head rested on his chest. “I lied,” she murmured against his shirt. “About why I came back. I mean, I suppose it wasn’t a lie so much as a half-truth, but that’s the same thing, isn’t it?” She sighed again, let their joined hands fall to the side. “I have… feelings for you,” she repeated, her voice trembling soft. “I’m sorry.”

Ashe suddenly felt as if he were back in the burning forest; every nerve was alight, his whole body flushed red with elation and flattered delight. The looming dread was gone, and in its place was a fluttering hope. Ingrid had feelings for him. _Ingrid Galatea_ , the most beautiful, courageous, amazing woman he had ever met, had feelings for _him_.

He started to laugh.

Ingrid groaned again, clutching his coat and burying her face deeper into the warm woolen fabric. “Oh, _please_ , don’t—”

“Why are you sorry? Ingrid.” He slipped his hand from hers and lifted her gently, tilting her face up to meet her eyes. “Ingrid, look at me. Why are you _sorry?_ "

"Because, I—" Ingrid paused, studied his face. He was still grinning. "...Aren't you upset?"

"Do I _look_ upset?” Ashe was laughing again. He couldn’t help it. “Why would I be upset?”

“I just thought—” Ingrid was laughing now, too, although she seemed more bewildered than anything. “I just thought we were _friends_ , and you wouldn’t want to be partners with me anymore if I was going to make things awkward by being in love with you—”

Ashe choked on his laughter. “You’re _in love_ with me?”

“Ashe!” Ingrid punched his arm. “Yes! That’s what I meant by feelings!”

“There’s a difference between _having feelings_ and _being in love!”_ he protested. Now he was the one who wanted to hide. “Y-you can’t just say things like that!”

Ingrid huffed. “Why _not?_ ”

“Well, because— because _I’m_ in love with _you!_ ” Ingrid looked shocked for a moment; then her eyes softened.

“Ashe.” When she spoke his name, it was almost a whisper, like a heartfelt wish on a shooting star. Ashe instantly decided he would do anything to hear her say it like that again, even if it took him a lifetime.

“I… I have been for a while,” he confessed, his smile shy and guarded. His hand found the back of his neck and rested there, drumming a nervous arrhythmic pattern against his skin. “Honestly, I’ve had a crush on you since we were classmates, but the more I got to know you, the more I found myself captivated by you. I—”

Ugh. _Captivated?_ Now he sounded like he was trying one of Sylvain’s lines.

“I’m sorry, this is coming out all wrong. I should have rehearsed. I’ve been meaning to, you know, but I didn’t know if we’d even make it through this war and I—”

“No, it’s okay!” Ingrid leaned forward, cradling his hand between her own. Her eyes were eager; hopeful. “Please. Tell me.”

He laughed, then, some of the tension easing in his chest. “Sorry. I’m just a bit nervous,” he said. With a quick breath, Ashe gathered his courage and tried again. “Point is, I’m in love with you, too. I love everything about you: how brave you are, how you look out for the people you care about, even the way you eat—”

“Wait, how do I—”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, partly so he wouldn’t have to answer that question but _mostly_ because it was true. “ _So_ beautiful, Ingrid, inside and out. And I love you.”

He wrapped his free hand around hers, taking just a moment to marvel at the perfect fit.

“That’s why you don’t have to fight so hard,” he said. “Not alone, anyway. And not with me. I’ve never thought of you as weak, or cowardly, or— or somehow lesser than anyone else here. You don’t have to prove anything. I already know who you are, Ingrid Brandl Galatea. I’ve known it since I met you, and I’m so in love with you I don’t know what to do.”

By the time he was done, Ashe could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to cry. He certainly didn’t _want_ to. It was just a thing that happened sometimes, when he felt too much and the excess emotion spilled out of him in liquid form. It was annoying at best and mortifying at worst, and right now he was teetering somewhere in the middle.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m okay—”

But then he was back in the forest, terrified that his own incompetence would get her shot down. He was in the sky, panicked, holding her close and trying not to think about all the blood. He was sliding from the saddle, sprinting into the throng of soldiers and screaming for Mercedes with Ingrid clasped tightly to his chest.

All that fear came crashing back, breaking against the edges of his soul and filling his lungs and forcing his hands to tremble. The tears fell before he could stop them.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what— I-I was just thinking how I almost— how you almost—” He pulled away, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “Saints, how embarrassing—”

“Ashe, no.” Ingrid wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself against his chest as if to shield him from himself. “It’s alright. I’m fine. I’m here.”

“I know. I-I know that.” Ashe let her hug him, his useless arms still shaking and unsure. “I don’t know why I… Why I’m still…”

“It’s okay.” She held him tighter. “Truly, Ashe. It’s okay.”

The absurdity of it all struck him, then, and Ashe found himself laughing through his tears. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is the least romantic confession I’ve ever heard.” And he had read some pretty poorly written tales, just for comparison’s sake.

But Ingrid shook her head. “No, _I’m_ sorry. You’re right, Ashe. About everything.” She sighed, snuggling into the wool of his coat. “I _have_ been reckless in the past, and today I took a risk that was… Well, it was unacceptable.” Ingrid sat back on her heels to stare up at him. “I won’t apologize for saving you and it would be unfair for you to ask it of me, but I should have told you I was injured. I should have… taken care of myself, too.”

She sighed again, her eyes suddenly somewhere else. “Sometimes,” she murmured, “I wonder if we heap so much pride on sacrifice that we forget what it means to live.” Ashe had often wondered the same. “But you’re right. I cannot afford to fall, not for those who rely on me and not for myself. I… I thought I might lose you, too, today. If our positions were reversed, and it was you instead of me…” Ingrid shuddered, pulling him close again. “I’m sorry, Ashe. I’m so, so sorry.”

No longer paralyzed, Ashe held her tight, one hand resting on her hair. “I forgive you,” he said. Ingrid hiccupped into his shirt and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay.”

“Now who has the least romantic confession?” Her words were muffled by woolen softness, but Ashe heard enough to laugh.

“I think that’s still me.”

When Ingrid sat up and wiped her eyes, she was laughing, too. “Yes… you’re probably right.”

An easy silence fell between them, punctuated by sniffles and small, soft giggles. Ashe collected himself slowly, letting himself indulge in this quiet, intimate moment. Even fresh from the medical tent, fresh from _crying_ , Ingrid looked so serenely beautiful. It was the life in her: the glowing, contented vitality of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

And it was finally sinking in that she wanted _him._

“Ingrid.” He had to know. “You’re sure? About… about me?”

Her cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t look away. “Oh Ashe. Yes. Of course I am.”

Ashe smiled. “Good.”

Before he lost his nerve, Ashe leaned in, pulling her into his lap and pressing his lips to hers. He had no experience kissing, was probably very bad at it, would probably get laughed out of the tent if anyone else had been watching, but that wasn’t about to stop him. Ingrid probably wouldn’t disown him for one bad first kiss, and so long as she didn’t, they had plenty of time to get it right.

And it wasn’t a bad first kiss after all, when his brain finally stopped _worrying_ and started _experiencing._ Ingrid was soft, her lips slightly chapped from the long march to Enbarr, and the texture was different and exhilarating and set him on fire all over again. And she was kissing him back. Ingrid moved against him, her lips slotting with his and tugging with soft insistence. When her teeth grazed his bottom lip, Ashe felt a thrill run up and down the length of his spine.

He pulled away, laughing, the sound half-strangled. “You are much better at this than I am.”

Ingrid turned red, clearly pleased. “I’ve, uh. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”

Goddess, she was adorable. How could he love her more?

“What did I say about saying things like that?” he asked, and taking her head in his hands, he kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, little pecks that only made her blush harder, giggling against his mouth.

“ _Ashe!_ ” She whined his name, pushing without conviction against his chest. He’d never heard her whine before. He wanted to hear it again.

“I hope you’ll _keep_ thinking about it,” he said. Ashe kissed her again, showering her face and neck with teasing brushes of his lips. “I hope you’ll think about it for a long, long time.” Then he paused, letting her catch her breath.

“That is,” said Ashe, “if you’ll have me?”

Ingrid looped her arms around his neck, eyes sparkling with barely-suppressed laughter. “Yes,” she answered, and the kiss that followed was slow, sweet, soft and savoring. “I’d be a fool not to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaah, this was so much fun to do. I'm so happy with how it turned out, and very lucky to have been paired with AtomicHush for the event. 
> 
> As always, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/imagymnasia). Thank you so much for reading!!


End file.
